My Visit to the Doctor

I went to the doctor to find out why I've been so consistently tired lately. He asked me a bunch of questions. One question he asked was "Are you depressed?" I answered, "Nah. I haven't really cried this week." That's right people even comedians weep. It's not all ha ha all the time. Yeah, I cry and not just when someone like a nurse puts an adhesive bandage on a hairy section of my arm and then later I have to yank that adhesive bandage off. Thereby ripping hair out of my arm. No, that doesn't make me cry. That makes me swear like a South Park movie. But my crying isn't really the point. Let's just say I cry and leave it at that. Why go into my deep seeded sadness. None of you care. You just want the chuckles. You want my tears after they've been transformed into punchlines. Well, fine. Here you go then. Take my pain. Take it and use it for your own amusement. Who am I but a slave. Your blogging monkey. Clap your hands and I'll dance an internet jig.

The point is my doctor might care too much on being liked by his patients. After I mentioned the weeping he then asked, "Well, do you want me to give you something for that?" I declined because I don't think anti-depressants come in liquid form. Oh yeah, and I also think perhaps I should have someone diganose me as depressed before I start taking random drugs. I wouldn't even know what to order. He smiled, and said, "OK." and then cheerily like a buddy said, "You just let me know." Thanks, doc. Thanks for just taking my word for it. You know, because no one would lie to get their hands on some meds. Especially not a drug addict. They are always so honest. I think next time I go back I'll tell him I'm having trouble kicking H. Maybe he'll offer me methadone. Now that shit comes in liquid.